Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MASSIO
Her overly chirpy voice grates on my nerves, but it’s the way her eyes gleam that has a lump forming in my throat. She wants me.
She’s different than I remember. Maybe it’s the years that have passed us by, or maybe it’s the image I conjured up in my mind of the memory of her that doesn’t quite live up to the reality.
Her body is tight, very tight, but not in a good way; she’s gone too far.
She’s not naturally trim, no, it’s surgically enhanced, fake, just like the smiles she plasters on her face as she flirts with potential sugar daddies.
She always did want handouts, and the fact she’s crafted her body through a shortcut, an easy fix, is another fine example of her personality.
She wants the instant reward, her idea of perfection given to her, as if she’s entitled to it while the rest of the world works so hard to earn their way.
Unlike Thea, who works out to keep her body toned and takes extra lessons at school to further her knowledge in design. She doesn’t want handouts; she’s quite happy to work her way up.
Something Veronica never understood, especially about me.
Looking back, I now know she was always going to trade me in, in her quest for the next best thing, and my guess is, she’s traded her husband in too, a thousand times over.
She clucks her tongue, and the sound sends a violent wave of regret through me. How could I forget the sound? Did I really convince myself this woman was worth my energy? My distress. Did I really think she was worthy of my heart in the first place?
Wow, I gave her too much credit. Way too much, and sickness whirls inside me as I consider the lengths I was prepared to go to after becoming blinded by my hatred for her and, more importantly, her actions.
With my head to the floor, I shake it, annoyed with myself, and when I finally look up at her, I wish I hadn’t.
Staring back at me is a coldhearted bitch of a woman I remember only too well.
Her lecherous gaze roams over me, making me uncomfortable.
Quickly assessing the area, I’m grateful Thea isn’t within earshot.
“I always knew you’d come crawling back,” she drawls, gawking at her fingernails, and I rear back. Is she for real?
“It’s been years, Veronica. I’d hardly call it crawling back.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to inform her that I delight in the way her daughter crawls for me, but the thought of her aware of our sex life is suddenly underwhelming. “It’s a job.”
She flips her hair over her shoulder, lifts her chin, then sneers toward me. “My daughter is more than a job, and it’ll serve you well to remember that. You work below us. Don’t forget that.”
I swallow hard, and in a bid to keep the conversation off us and erupting at the patronizing way she speaks to me, I decide to change the subject. The last thing I want is to risk blowing this without Thea tied to me. “We weren’t expecting you home just yet,” I say, softer this time.
“I’ll bet,” she tsks. “I’ve arranged a pool party for Saturday.
” She rummages through her purse. “Then there’s the Garratt event.
” She takes out a mirror and admires herself in it.
Was she aways this superficial? She huffs.
“I have a dozen appointments before then.” I’ll bet she does; each one of them will be to craft her face and body into some twisted, glorified idea of perfection.
“Theodora will need a makeover, of course …” My vision blurs and a red haze takes over. A makeover? My girl is perfect just the way she is.
“I don’t know what Theodora’s problem is. She stormed past me without barely a word.” She pins me with a stare. “Make sure she’s at that party Saturday. I have plans for her. Oh, and dinner tomorrow night. Ford will be home too.” Her tone is ominous.
Zane’s words “Was she promised to someone?” send a wave of panic through me.
“She’ll be there,” I say with a swift nod—and so will fucking I.